Page 10 of The Crafting Con

CHAPTER 5

AVA

Fourteen days until OA Con

“So what’s this super-secret project that requires getting up at the ass crack of dawn on a Saturday?” I jab the double cup icon on our espresso machine with a yawn loud enough to wake the neighborhood. Part of me hopes it does—if I have to suffer this indecent hour, why shouldn’t they?

Stasia rolls her eyes. “Girl, it’s ten.”

“I stand by what I said.” I dump in an obscene amount of creamer and watch blearily as hot water streams into my mug amid a cloud of steam. “It’s way too early on a weekend to be wearing pants.”

“I thought runners were supposed to be early risers.” Stasia eyes me from her spot at the counter, a glass of cranberry juice in her hand. There’s a brown sugar Pop-Tart resting on a plate in front of her, and I snap it up when I settle onto the stool beside her, breaking off half for myself.

“I run in the evenings, you know this.” I chug half my coffee, scorching the roof of my mouth before taking a bite of toasted pastry. “Now tell me. What’s this all about? You know I’m always down to help a friend, but I’m gonna need a teensy bit more to go on than it’ll be fun.”

Stasia sets her juice down, and one long finger traces the rim while she watches me out the corner of her eye. “Okay, so you know how you’re, like, good at arts and crafts? Like, scary good?”

“Um, scary seems a bit much, but sure. I can fold a mean origami when I want to. I’m president of the pep club for a reason, after all. Is that it? You have some kind of art project you need help with?” And here I was worried it was going to be something difficult, given all the hemming and hawing she did last night over the phone. “Lemme guess. The prom committee talked you into making decorations, and you realized you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.” I shake my head. “When will you learn to tell people no?”

Stasia snorts. “You’re one to talk. You’re pretty much the OG people pleaser. Which, honestly, I’m kind of banking on right now, ’cause it’s not the prom committee who needs help.” She hesitates, sucking in a quick breath before rushing out, “It’s Declan.”

Talk about a bad moment to go back to my coffee. Java spews from my lips, spraying the counter in a twenty-inch arc. Although, given the way my pulse is suddenly racing, the reduced caffeine intake is probably for the best. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand while alternating between coughing and gasping for breath.

Stasia starts hammering my back, and I bat her hand away with an exasperated glare. “I’m not choking, just… reacting spastically. Did you say Declan?”

“The boy from your secret memory box?” Stasia grabs a paper towel and dabs at the spattered coffee with a smug smirk. “Sure did.”

The wires in my brain must have gotten jumbled during my coffee aneurysm, because nothing about what she’s saying makes sense. “Declan needs help with a crafting project?”

Stasia nods serenely, still wiping away.

“And he wants me to help him?”

There’s an almost imperceptible pause in Stasia’s movements this time before she resumes cleaning. “He’s pretty desperate, to be honest. Hiro left him high and dry.”

He’d have to be desperate to want me of all people helping him out with, well, anything. I wrinkle my brow in confusion. “How do you even know all this? I didn’t think you and Declan were friends.” A prickle of envy creeps up my spine at the thought of them talking in the halls or laughing about something in class. He won’t even look at me. Not that I’ve given him a reason to, but still.

“We’re not.” Stasia avoids my gaze as she tosses the paper towel into the garbage. “Hiro was the one who asked me to ask you.”

“Oh.” That makes more sense. Wait, does it? Stasia’s friends with Hiro now? How oblivious am I? “How do you know Hiro again?”

“We go to the same church,” Stasia says, as if this were obvious. Which, maybe it should have been. Kind of starting to feel like a crappy friend over here.

“Oh, right. I knew that.” I didn’t. “So Declan asked Hiro to ask you to ask me to help him with this… project?”

“Something like that.” Stasia still isn’t looking at me as she arranges her plate and glass in the dishwasher. “Anyway, you should probably head over there soon, or they’re going to think you’re not coming.”

“Over there being…?”

“Declan’s house. Hiro said to meet in the garage.”

I nod, but internally? I’m freaking the heck out. Can I really just walk over to Declan’s house after all these years? What if I run into his parents, and they hate me now? What if they chase me down the street with pitchforks? Or maybe this is all some elaborate prank involving a bucket of pig’s blood dumping over my head when I walk into the garage. Because who goes from saying their ex-bestie is an empty shell of a human, to inviting them over for craft time?

Nothing about this feels right.

And yet…

What if this is an olive branch? What if he regrets the things he said in the cafeteria? Things which, if I’m being honest, sting more than they probably should. I mean, I know I’m the more obvious villain in this scenario, but hearing that from someone who used to mean as much as he did really freaking sucked. And now he’s asking for my help? Seriously?